Wax and Wane
by Bookreader525
Summary: Beth and Jerry's relationship is like a roller coaster, twisting and turning, going up then down, and very often turning upside down. Everyone knows they began with a big mistake on their prom night, but where did it really all go wrong? / A five-piece fic detailing their tumultuous years together, from their senior year of high school to the end of 3x01.
1. New Moon

**Okay, so, I tried my best with this one. Since this is my first contribution to this fandom, I'm a bit nervous but open to any feedback. I honestly love Beth and I feel that until we get a more detailed background for her from the show creators, then I'll just have to settle for this five-piece fic I've written over the last week. Please enjoy!**

* * *

Jerry Smith has spent one hundred and fifty-eight days of his senior year of high school in Mr. Letterman's calculus class. The first half of those one hundred and fifty-eight days was spent sitting behind a grimy pothead named Bruce Potts who usually reserved the fifty-minute slot of sixth period for napping or snacking on a sixteen-ounce bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos.

The second half of those one hundred and fifty-eight days, however, has marked a new beginning for Jerry. The day Mr. Letterman scrambled up his seating chart was the day Jerry's life was transformed forever.

He'd always noticed her from across the room, but actually being right behind her is a game-changer. His view of the chalkboard is now partially blocked by a mass of silky blonde curls.

He can smell her hair. It's something tropical, like coconut or mango. Every day when she sits down, an inexplicable, gentle breeze sends the sweet scent in his direction.

On particularly lucky days, a few blonde wisps end up resting on his desk. He's accidentally touched them a few times just to get his pencil. It's not like he actually uses his pencil to do classwork; rather, he chews on it as a probably unhealthy way to let out his pent-up rage. God, she's so close— that fuckin' _hair_! — and still she's so far away from him. So far away that if he were to stroke even one wavy strand of that gorgeous blonde hair, she would turn around and say something along the lines of—

"What the hell are you doing?"

Every part of Jerry freezes: his heart grinds to a halt, his brain goes blank, his blood ices over. Ever so slowly, his eyes trail along his outstretched arm and find the fingers of his right hand intertwined between those beautiful blonde locks.

Immediately, his eyes jerk back upwards and, for the first time ever in his miserable seventeen years of life, he makes eye contact with Elizabeth "Just Call Me Beth" Sanchez.

Her eyes are even bluer in person than in her yearbook photo. It physically pains him to rip his gaze away from hers.

"Um…" He coughs and retracts his hand from her hair. "I was just… y- you see… there was, um, a fuzz in your hair."

"Oh." One of her eyebrows forms a high arch as she takes him in. Not one soul in heaven or hell could possibly know what she thinks of him at this very moment.

Then a corner of her mouth curls up. It's slight, but it's there, and he accepts it readily.

"Thanks," she says, and then she's facing forward again and he's met with another face full of pure blonde joy.

That settles it. He's in love.

 **oo0oo**

The prom posters that line the hallways feel like a taunt to Jerry. Or, at least, they used to. Now he's positive that he's got any exchange of words with a girl in the bag. He's mastered that shit. He's on another level with that shit.

Now, he prowls the halls of this nondescript high school with the dexterity of a panther, the confidence of a lion, and the muscle tone of a three-pound Chihuahua.

His friend Mort is looking at him as if he's just sprouted two heads. "What's gotten into you, dude? You look like you just got to touch Jennifer Davidson's tits behind the bleachers during gym class. 'Cause… damn, I'd like to hit that."

"No, that's not what happened," Jerry tells him. His voice is airy and light, as if his words are walking on clouds. "Close, though."

"Dude!" Mort stops him, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the side and out of the moving stream of students. "Who's boobs did you get to see? C'mon, spill! I swear, if you really get to cash in your v-card to redhead Ashlee before I do, man—"

Jerry straightens his spine and puffs out his chest. He jabs a finger at himself and, with a prideful smirk, announces, "I got to talk to Beth Sanchez today."

Mort's shoulders deflate a little, but he still looks intrigued. Jerry is reeling him in like a trout on a fishing rod. "Beth Sanchez? Horse-loving hot stuff?"

"The one and only." Jerry crosses his arms and widens his grin. "She turned around in calc and _spoke_ to me, Mort. I didn't even initiate anything! It was all her. And ma-a-a-an, is she hot." He slides down against some lockers as his eyes briefly loll to the ceiling. "You know what, Mort?"

"What?"

"I'm gonna ask her to prom."

The words come out weak, as if they're scared of the very intensity of their meaning, but they make it to Mort's ears nonetheless.

"Dude, are you insane?" Mort drags him up and shakes his head vigorously. "She… she says no to literally everyone. Hell, she'd— she'd probably say no even if Leonardo DiCaprio asked her!"

"I don't care. I'm asking her."

"You're insane, man. You've truly gone bonkers." Mort continues shaking his head as he sizes up his friend. "I mean, whataya want me to say? 'Go for it?' I don't wanna see you crash and burn, man."

Jerry smiles dreamily at him. "Y'know, you're— you're a really, really good friend, Mort."

Mort crosses his arms. "You're gonna have to come down from that high someday, dude. You gotta land on your feet. You ask Beth Sanchez to prom, and you'll fall splat on your face."

Jerry leans forward to give him a firm pat on the shoulder. "Y'know, Mort, y'know what— if I have a son someday, I'm naming him after you. You're a good guy. You really are."

"Oh?" Mort rolls his eyes as they rejoin the stragglers still making their way to class. "And I bet you think that son will be yours and Beth's?"

"I don't think—"

"Well, that's true."

"I _know_ so," Jerry says sharply. "I'll make Beth Sanchez mine. You wait and see. She'll have to say yes."

Mort wipes his brow indifferently. "I can't wait to see the shitstorm."

 **oo0oo**

Beth leans precariously over the bathroom sink as she swipes a mascara brush over her lashes one, two, three times. She caps it, then puckers her lips and slides on a layer or two of "juicy red (trademark)" lipstick. She stands back to examine her work.

Makeup is fascinating to her. Each day, she wakes up with a fresh face, a blank slate to experiment with. Lipstick is like bold strokes of paint. Foundation is the base that smooths out any blemishes on the canvas. Eyeshadow is the extra touch of detail to complete the masterpiece. And not one masterpiece is the same. Some days, she can go with the bare minimum, and other days she goes all out. Tonight is one particular time when she goes all out with the makeup.

Prom night.

The bathroom door provides just a thin shield from the screaming between her mother and her mom's imbecile of a boyfriend occurring downstairs, but luckily getting herself ready for the dance has kept her occupied enough to ignore it— until now.

" _So you mean to tell me you're bailing on our date again? What a surprise._ "

" _Hey, it ain't my fault you're such a pain to be around. Day after day after fucking day you bitch and moan about how everyone leaves you._ "

" _It's not my fault everyone decides to abandon me, Stan! Is that really what you think is the problem here? Me?_ "

" _It is you, goddammit. Now move aside and let me out. I need to go for a drive for a lil' while._ "

Beth stares hard into the mirror. By now she's become practically immune to these fights, but something about this one is venomous enough to draw pools of tears into her eyes.

" _A drive? What the hell does that mean? Where are you gonna go?_ "

" _I ain't going nowhere, Diane. I'm just staying in the car and cooling off. Now move!_ "

There's another shriek from her mother, then the sound of the front door creaking open and shortly after slamming shut. Chilling silence follows. Beth lifts her head to the ceiling, trying desperately to get the tears to reabsorb so her mascara doesn't run.

She casts one last glance at the mirror, fluffing her hair. She has it curled lightly, pinned up with a few blonde corkscrews framing her face. Her dress is a pale sea-green with a sweetheart neckline and a subtle line of sequins along the hem. It was something she had found in the back of her mother's closet one day. She'd taken it without a second thought because there's no way she could buy a brand-new one from the store like all the other girls.

When the doorbell rings, her stomach lurches. She opens the door and slides out, racing down the stairs in heels that are one size too small. There is soft crying coming from the kitchen, and it breaks Beth's heart to have to ignore it.

She swings the door open and smiles widely at her date. He opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts in quickly. "Ready? Let's go!" She fastens her hand on his immaculately-ironed sleeve and yanks the door shut behind her.

 **oo0oo**

She doesn't really remember how exactly Jerry Smith asked her to prom. All she knows for sure is that there was something special about him in the cafeteria that day. In between the faint dimples, and the clusters of angry zits, was a face that cared. Deep in those brown eyes was— is— a boy who desires something else besides her size DD breasts and the type of shampoo she uses. She told him yes because maybe, just maybe, she's finally found a guy who wants her for _her_ , for personality and wit, not just for looks.

Or, at least, that's what Beth believes after a few cups of punch.

Truthfully, their exchange in the cafeteria that day went something like this:

"Hey… um, Beth?"

"Yeah?"

"How would you— you like to go to, uh, prom? With, y'know, me? Pretty please?"

A few seconds of silence. An affirmative shrug. Then "Sure."

Beth wants to have a reason for saying yes to Jerry Smith. She really does. She wants to validate that "yes" with all of her might. And yet something about this punch is making her feel really, really… woozy.

"Does this taste… funny to you?" Jerry leans heavily against the snack table. He thrusts his cup in her face, and some red liquid sloshes out and falls with a resounding splatter onto the gym floor.

"Smell funny? Anything?" he prods.

She giggles and gives it a sniff. "No," she decides before taking another sip from her own cup.

Jerry furrows his brows— she notices it's something he does a lot, especially when he's thinking. He gives the neon red drink another experimental sniff. "Really?"

Her shoulders lift up then down again limply, as if suspended on puppet strings. "Yeah. Nothing's wrong with it. It's just a little… alcoholic."

At his facial expression, she tries to hold in her laughter, but it escapes through her nose in the form of a few loud snorts. Then he starts chuckling too, while downing the rest of his cup and pouring himself another. He tops her off as well.

He taps the cheap plastic against hers. His trademark smirk is gradually loosening up as her vision grows hazier. "Cheers!" he says. Diabetes-level sweet liquid splashes out onto both of their hands.

"To— _urrrp_ — what?" she asks.

Her date— her stupid, annoying pimply date— _definitely_ looks like DiCaprio in this lighting. She's sure of it. She can almost see the chiseled abs through his wrinkled dress shirt.

"To that impressive burp!" Jerry yells. He's laughing like a madman. She is too. They throw back both of their drinks, and as the spiked punch splashes down her throat, the music and playful chaos around them becomes more muted.

 **oo0oo**

It's raining when they ditch the dance. The light drizzle peppers their skin as they run across the parking lot, weaving between parked cars and maintaining their blissful, clueless laughter.

"How— how'd ya even burp like that, anyway?" he calls to her through the thin sheets pouring from the navy sky.

She bends back for a moment, pulling the uncomfortable shoes off her feet and leaving them to dangle from two fingers. "Eh… let's just say it runs in the family."

"How so?"

Her smile falters. She leans heavily against Jerry's car— or, rather, the pile of rust he'd received as a hand-me-down from his father— and sighs. "My dad. He always used to, um, take me out for ice cream. He'd let out these— _hic_ — impressive burps!" And her smile returns in full force, stretching her elastic cheeks. "He'd leave me giggling for hours afterward."

Jerry studies her fondly as he fishes the keys out of his suit pocket. "What, uh, happened to him?"

"He left a few years ago." She shrugs lamely. "My mom's now dating this real jackass— that's why— _hic_ — I wanted to leave in a hurry when you picked me up."

Her date frowns. His forehead crinkles up like tissue paper and he unlocks the car slowly. "Wow… I never knew you had such a crappy home life, Beth." The pause between his words is fleeting. "Y'know, I think… I really— _hic_ — think your dad sounds like he was a pretty cool guy, y'know?"

They both flop into the car, muscles fluid from the alcohol.

"You would've liked him if you got to meet him," Beth tells him.

"No doubt," Jerry agrees.

The two fall silent for a few minutes. She busies herself clumsily wiping rain droplets off her bare skin. He slides off his jacket and drapes it haphazardly over her bare shoulders.

"Thanks," she mutters.

He nods in reply. His hand shakily twists the key in the ignition, and the tired old engine rumbles to life. He's about to put the car into drive when a hand lands on top of his.

"Don't take me home," she whispers. "Please."

His eyes are wide as saucers as they lock gazes. "… what?" he asks softly.

Beth wraps her fingers tighter around his. "I don't want to go back to that— _hic_ — hellhole. Please. Not yet."

He stares at her dazedly, and reminds himself again of just who is occupying this car with him. Beth freaking Sanchez. The girl who always pays attention in calc. The girl who nibbles on the eraser end of her pencil when she's thinking. The girl with the clearest blue eyes he's ever seen. Right now, she's like an open book. He reads her carefully, then slowly slides his hand up her arm. He feels her shiver underneath his touch, but he doesn't stop because not one nerve in his body tells him to stop. The shots of vodka splashed into that punch didn't go to his stomach. The alcohol has traveled straight to his brain, and— oh, who are we kidding? It's gone right to his dick. He's so turned on by the girl sitting in the passenger seat of his rusty old Buick. Holy hell, it feels like a firecracker is exploding in his chest whenever he looks at her.

She reaches forward briefly, leaning over the console. Her generously-sized boobs are in very close proximity to him now— holy fuck, they're right in his personal space bubble. His tongue is bathing in a pool of hungry saliva. He doesn't want to hide the hardness in his pants.

She's reaching for the key, he soon realizes, and she turns it so the car is once again off. He watches the wipers roll to a lazy stop as the windshield fills up with a collection of droplets that shine like little diamonds in the flickering light of the school's parking lot lamps.

"Don't take me home," Beth whispers again. By now his hand has reached her shoulder. His jacket has fallen down behind her on the seat.

"Okay," he agrees. "I won't."

Then he crawls over the center console and climbs on top of her. Like a reflex, her hand slips to the lever between the car door and the seat to recline herself all the way down. They look at each other for a long moment, as if to confirm that there is absolutely nothing wrong about this. Their minds, so handicapped by alcohol and the stress and boredom of their mediocre lives, find nothing out of the ordinary. So he lowers himself and presses his lips to hers in a tender kiss. She returns it just as gently at first, but as the sweat builds up on their skin and the rain gathers thicker on the windshield, the kisses become more desperate and messy. The electricity crackling between them is even more intoxicating than alcohol. _She_ is more intoxicating than alcohol.

"You sure you want to do this?" He breathes the words right into her mouth.

She doesn't hesitate one second. "Yes."

Jerry's mind doesn't even think to remember the condom in the glove compartment. And she doesn't think to ask. They just live in this irresistibly erotic moment. These few minutes they have together, tonight, feel more perfect than any life worth living.


	2. Shift

A week later, he turns eighteen. She's not long after that. They see each other at graduation, but don't bother waving, let alone talking. He catches a glimpse of her, a short-lived grin aimed in his direction that's quickly washed away by a wave of thick blonde hair. She sees his hesitant smile, the way his body is angled as if he's going to approach her. She doesn't give him the chance.

Prom night was… weird. She doesn't want to think about it again. She doesn't want to give _him_ the chance to talk to her about it. Not now, nor ever.

Life, of course, has other plans for her. Life doesn't care if she's barely eighteen. Life doesn't give two fucks if she's gotten into a prestigious medical school. Life just loves to fuck things up.

When she starts getting symptoms, it doesn't take long for her to realize the possibility of long-term consequences from her time with Jerry on prom night. She's not stupid. But holy hell, is she terrified.

By the time she's cornered herself in the bathroom, not a day over eight weeks since prom, she's beyond terrified. Her stomach is like an acrobat, flipping over and doing somersaults. She has a five-minute-long staring contest with a harmless looking plastic stick that just so happens to reveal her future in a simple code: one line or two lines.

Five minutes, and then the stick reveals that her future is about to become a hell of a lot more complicated.

 **oo0oo**

Jerry hums softly to himself as he strolls down the front hallway of his parents' house. Well, really, it still is _his_ house, considering he'll be staying right where he is. The only college he got into is just a fifteen-minute drive away. It's a small campus, intimate and low-key just as he likes. His major is still undecided.

He bends down to retrieve the mail dropped through the slot in the door. Sifting through it with an air of disinterest, he begins walking back to his waiting bowl of cereal in the kitchen— only to freeze in his tracks.

At the bottom of the pile is a crisp white envelope with his name scrawled on it in rushed letters. He sits down at the table and tears it open. Two items fall out and flutter gracefully onto his placemat like leaves in autumn.

A sonogram and a short note stare back at him evenly. All the note says is a curt

 _It's yours._

 _\- Beth_

All at once, his body feels heavy. His heart is a stone that's dropped into his stomach. His blood is liquid lead. His bones are iron. He gawks, dumbfounded, at the ultrasound picture.

In the upper corner is "SANCHEZ, ELIZABETH" and a timestamp from yesterday. It's definitely hers. It's definitely _real_.

The black and white blur, or blob, or whatever it is in the center of the image is what really gets him. He clutches the glossy paper, holding it up to his face, eyes narrowed and feverishly darting back and forth to take in every detail.

Holy shit. He knocked up Beth Sanchez. The horse-obsessed hot girl. The _smart_ hot girl. The girl with the brightest blue eyes he's ever seen.

Fuck.

 **oo0oo**

The stifling July heat hits her like a wall as she opens the door. Standing on her stoop, shoulders sagging and eyes pleading, is the one and only Jerry Smith. He holds up the sonogram she sent him and offers it to her.

She swallows, and figuring she doesn't have much choice, accepts it. Then her hand falls back limply at her side.

"So?"

"I— god, Beth, I— I'm sorry."

Her arms move at a snail's pace to cross over her abdomen. She tries not to think about the tiny life inside there. Yet it's hard _not_ to think about this tiny life that may as well have been the biggest obstacle life could throw in her path to becoming a renowned heart surgeon.

"Yeah, well…" She swallows again, and the lump in her throat is more pronounced than ever. "I'm sorry too."

He rubs his arm awkwardly. "So now what?"

"I've— I've thought long and hard about this," she begins. "And I just don't see any way to accommodate having a baby into my life plans. I mean, hell, we're barely adults as it is… we might as well still be seventeen!" She casts a final glance at the sonogram before setting it on the table next to the door. "After the ultrasound yesterday, I made an appointment."

"An… appointment," he repeats dumbly.

She folds her arms tighter over herself. "I'm getting an abortion," she says quietly. "I just wanted you to know that this happened so you're… you're more careful next time, with other girls."

"Other girls?"

"I don't think we should see each other again. This was a bad idea to begin with, going to prom. And we barely know each other… I— I just… I need to focus on college right now," she says firmly.

Jerry looks like he was just given a hard punch in the gut. He clasps his hands, then unclasps them, then clasps them again. "If that's what your choice is, then… at— at least let me drive you there."

Beth already has her hand on the door to close it, but stops short. She snags his lowered gaze, lifting it from where he'd been staring at his feet. "Are you sure? I mean, I was gonna have my friend drive me, but—"

"No. It's the least I can do."

 **oo0oo**

She knows in her heart it was wrong to request an ultrasound. She tells Jerry they forced her to get one as part of the doctor's visit, but it was at her own insistence that they laid her down and rubbed the weird little tool over her midsection. She's hidden the sonogram deep in her closet back home, out of the way of her mother and temporary-stepfather's prying eyes. They don't know anything about this, and she's not about to tell them. Beth already knows she's a big enough disappointment to her mother— despite the whole straight A's on her report card and aspiring to be a surgeon thing, there's still something amiss in her mother's eyes whenever she looks at Beth.

Beth is thinking of that grainy picture the entire time she waits for her ride to the clinic. And she's been inside Jerry's shitty Buick maybe two minutes before the dam within her breaks. Her cheeks are damp with tears, her hands clammy, her teeth buried deep in her lower lip to keep her from making any noise.

Jerry notices anyway. He offers her a gentle pat on the shoulder, but seems helpless otherwise. He stays quiet, keeping his words minimal and eyes glued to the road. It's raining a little, tears from the sky matching the tears on her face.

In this moment, she thinks that surely there is nothing worse this dreary day can throw at them. There's the rain, there's the tears, there's the churning in her stomach from a mixture of morning sickness and despair. But life isn't finished with them yet.

A sudden, sharp _pop_ pierces their shaky balloon of silence. Jerry swears loudly, and he jerks the wheel to the right. The car limps across a lane and staggers to a halt in a narrow gravel clearing at the side of the road.

She's still too overwhelmed by emotions to make any other noise besides a sob. Jerry grumbles to himself, kicking open his door and marching around the car. His jaw drops as he reaches the back passenger side.

"Uh! You might wanna come see this," he yells to her.

Seconds later, she's stepped out in the weak sprinkle and finds him standing, stumped, in front of a blown tire.

"Shit. We must've driven over something," he remarks irritably.

He crouches down to examine the shredded tire, then with a sigh moves around to the trunk. She remains shivering, the gravel poking through the flimsy soles of her worn out ballet flats.

"Aaaaand it seems the spare has already been used," Jerry announces. He shuts the trunk and lifts his arms in surrender. "I'm sorry. I— I don't know what to do." He twists around to face the road. Cars whip past them, stirring up their hair with repeated blasts of hot, tar-scented wind.

She zips up her windbreaker and can't think of anything else to do besides shrug and wipe her nose.

"Hitchhike?" he suggests.

"No. Are you out of your mind?" The anger comes to her in a white-hot surge. The simmering pot within her has boiled over, turning sadness into fury. "Feel free to hitchhike, but chances are you'll get raped, stabbed, and dumped at the side of the road." She takes a threatening step toward him. "How does that sound, Jerry? Does that sound _fun_ to you?"

His entire body seems to slump as he stumbles back against the car. "I— I don't…"

" _Fuck_!" she spits. Her fingers curl into fists, nails biting at the soft skin of her palms. She searches the overcast sky, as if that would provide any solutions. Right on cue, the rain picks up, and the two of them seek refuge back in the stupid car.

They sit for a while, watching the sliding raindrops intersect paths on the windshield. Then he goes, "Maybe this a sign."

She turns her glare over toward him. "A _sign_?"

"Y'know, like, an omen. The world's way of telling us that we should… um… keep the baby."

"Oh yeah?" She hugs her arms around herself. "And then do what?"

He's chewing on his thumbnail. She pretends not to notice. "Uh… raise it? Together?"

Her mood dives deeper into sour territory. "Oh, that sounds fabulous, Jerry. It'll be too easy! All we have to do is… let's see…" She begins counting on her fingers. "Drop out of college, find jobs that pay high enough to buy food for three people, find a cheap apartment, and of course, the biggie: give up our dreams." She faces him, exasperation making her breaths labored. "D- don't you have dreams, Jerry? Aspirations in life? Something to live up to?"

"Uh…" He runs a hand through his messy brown hair. "Not… particularly."

"Wow." Her flare of anger has subsided, leaving only a tired and defeated shell. "You know what. Whatever. Screw it. Forget everything. We screwed up. Maybe we should just live with it."

"Really?" He tilts his head at her. "Your tone doesn't sound too promising."

Beth grits her teeth. "What do you want me to do, jump for freakin' joy? I… I'll have to give up medical school for this. I'll be flipping burgers instead of saving lives. Cool. Awesome. Fantastic. Oh, and my mother will surely kick me out for being seventeen and pregnant—"

"Eighteen," he reminds her. "We _are_ adults."

"Barely," she mutters. "I sure don't feel like an adult."

Jerry reaches over the center console, pulling her closer to him. She melts into his embrace, rubbing her eyes raw. "Hey, look…" he says calmly. "It won't be so bad. I'm actually going to college nearby, so I was going to stay with my parents anyway. You can move in with us. I'll get a decent job, I promise. My parents can help us raise the kid."

"And I'll just be a housewife the rest of my life?"

"Ah… I mean, whatever floats your boat," he replies.

She shifts under his arm, resting an elbow on the console so she can look him in the eyes. "You won't leave me?"

"No. It's my kid too, you know. I'd like to see he or she grow up." A nervous smile forms on his lips. "So… what do you say?"

Her returned smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Okay," she whispers. "Yes. There's just… one little thing I want to do first."

 **oo0oo**

Jerry's parents are more supportive than Beth thought they'd be. From her observations— which are, admittedly, distorted by a filter of shock at the sudden turn of events in her life— it almost seems like they view her as the daughter they never had. Leonard and Joyce Smith are nice, albeit quirky, but it's not like Beth has never met any oddballs in her life.

Moving out of her mother's home is not as difficult as she'd envisioned, either. Her mom is disappointed, of course, and demands that Beth e-mail her often. She thinks her daughter is going to college early. She still doesn't know the truth, and Beth thinks it's better that way. She'd rather her child have just one set of grandparents than two sets and be condemned by their maternal side for possibly all eternity.

The "one little thing" Beth requested turns into a bigger event than she originally wanted. Her sole reason for marrying Jerry is so they all share the same last name, and there is honestly no reason to make it complicated. She stays adamant on the wedding taking place in the courthouse, but besides that her future in-laws find ways to tweak the details.

Joyce insists that if Beth is to join the family, then she must wear the wedding gown that has been passed down through generations. On top of that, Leonard wants to invite a multitude of guests. Jerry tries to talk them down from extravagances, but in the end Beth is the one who gets them to quit tacking on a million add-ons.

"If we argue over this much longer, then I won't be able to _fit_ in the dress," she growls at the three of them one day in mid-August. "No extra guests. Just the four of us, in the courthouse, at two in the afternoon next Wednesday. Okay?"

The day she becomes a Smith dawns bright and sunny. She and Jerry stand in the bland room, him in a rumpled suit and her in the wrinkled old dress. The ceremony is about as basic as it can get— his parents are the sole witnesses, their vows are standard and nothing special, and their rings are the simple gold bands. Right before Beth says her "I do," her mind almost steers her in a different direction. She thinks of where she could've been right now if it weren't for that night. Just getting settled at that prestigious medical school, making friends and living her life with no plans of getting married or starting a family in the near future…

"Elizabeth?" the officiant asks again.

She must look like an idiot, standing there with her mouth hanging open slightly. She can see the beads of sweat starting to form at Jerry's hairline. A few yards away, his parents have lines of concern carved in their faces.

"I- I do," she says at last.

"By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride," the officiant says immediately. He sounds like he'd rather be doing literally anything else besides this. He's about as thrilling as a bag of rocks.

Jerry's fingers close on her veil. He pulls it away from her face, grinning crookedly. Then he bridges the gap between them, fitting his lips around hers. She returns it half-heartedly, and luckily he breaks it off before it gets too awkward. Hand in hand, the two of them turn to walk back down the short aisle, his parents right behind them.

"Here we go," he says brightly as they walk down the steps of the building. "Time to start our lives together!"

"Oh yeah," Beth replies, her words saturated with sarcasm. "This should play out _just_ fine."

There's no honeymoon, but they still fall asleep that night in the same bed. He holds her close and slips his fingers just under the waistband of her pajama shorts, resting above the life they've created together. Completely unintentional but, somewhere deep down, loved.


	3. Summers Ago

**A big thank you to Guest and Literaturefangirl for their kind reviews! And in regards to your question of if it was challenging coming up with a reason for the abortion not to happen, the flat tire actually wasn't my idea at all! It was mentioned at some point in the show (I forget what episode though) that Beth and Jerry would have followed through with the abortion if they hadn't blown a tire on the way to the clinic. So I tried my best to tie in that event into last chapter. But in any case, thanks so much for your reviews! It made my day getting to read them.**

 **And now on with the story! As always, thanks for reading.**

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The day they find out they're having a girl is the same day her mother finds out the truth.

They return to the Smith household full of exciting news, only to walk in on her mother locked in a tense conversation with his parents. As they step through the front door, Beth can already sense the tension in the living room. It's thick enough to be cut with a knife.

"Oh, honey... your lovely mother wanted to drop by—" Joyce's delicate tone is steamrolled over ruthlessly by a furious Diane. She stands up from the sofa fast enough to shatter the bonds of gravity and marches over to her daughter with fists swinging at her sides like boulders.

"Elizabeth Anne Sanchez, what the _hell_ are you doing?" The older woman gestures widely, her pale hair— which used to be a light blonde but has now mostly succumbed to whiteness from age— frizzy and sticking at odd angles like someone Beth knew once long ago.

Beth feels utterly lost. Inside, she's scolding herself for thinking a lie that weak and thin could last. It's like expecting a table with three legs and one leg missing to stand properly. And on the outside, her face is struck by a look of extreme terror: enormous eyes, flared nostrils, mouth ajar. When she finally is able to clamp her jaws shut, she meets her mother's fuming green eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I couldn't tell you. I... I... I didn't know _how_ to tell you," she whimpers. She feels Jerry's hand resting on her back as a lame attempt at comfort. Her voice breaks as she goes on. "It— it was a mistake."

"When did this happen?" Diane asks, not at all deterred by her daughter's terrified stammer.

Beth is surprised she's not crying yet. "Prom night."

"You came home so late that night... I should've known. I should have—"

"Um, excuse me, Mrs. Sanchez?"

Her mother's head swings to the left to take in Jerry. She waits silently for him to continue.

"If— if it makes you feel any better, I've married your daughter, and we plan to raise our kid— our _daughter_ together. I'm not going anywhere."

There are subdued squeals and murmurs from Joyce and Leonard in the background at the mention of a daughter. Diane doesn't appear to notice them.

"You're _married_?" she screeches. Her attention is already back on Beth.

"Yes. And I've dropped out of medical school."

Abruptly, her mother's tone shifts from one of fury to one of disappointment. "I know, but... honey, you— you studied so much and worked so hard to get into that school. You're just going to"— she points a couple fingers vaguely in Jerry's direction— "give up your entire future to have this skinny bum's child? Are you out of your mind?"

A small seed of confidence sprouts within Beth. She stands straighter and pulls Jerry closer to her. She doesn't know why she wants to stand up to her mother now, after years of living under her roof of turmoil and suffering through a slew of boyfriends that never could compare to the man her mother tries so hard to replace. Or maybe that's just it— she's tired of being trapped.

She wants to be free from her mother's unremarkable, unsatisfactory clutches. And if Jerry Smith is the alternative, then... that's just what she has to settle with for now.

"So what if I am?" she says. "Everything happens for a reason, and I think this just might be what I need. I'm excited"— somewhere in her mind, there's a voice telling her to add " _I think_ "— "and if you're not, then I don't see any reason why you should be in our daughter's life."

Diane crosses her arms firmly. "Is that so?" She looks tired all of a sudden, battered and drooping. She starts for the door, but thinks of one final zinger before she disappears through the door. "Your father would be so, so disappointed in you if he knew about this. He really would." And she's gone, like the last breath of mist on a foggy day.

Beth sinks down into the sofa and stares sullenly at the wall. She doesn't speak again, not even answering Jerry's insistent questions, until much later that night. She's curled on one side of the bed, her skinny bum of a husband snoring quietly on the other side. Her hand grazes the now visible bump under her t-shirt, and with a sniffle she whispers, "I'm sorry." She doesn't know if she's talking to the wall in front of her nose, to the sleeping Jerry, to her absent mother, or to the squirming existence inside her. The warm, salty tears that should be staining her cheeks do not come. Only the repeated "sorries" come, trembling up her throat and rolling off her tongue until she finally descends into a fitful sleep.

 **oo0oo**

She feels the first contraction twenty-three hours after Leonard and Joyce have left for a poorly-timed trip to the tropics.

Two in the morning, and Jerry is driving like a bat out of hell to the hospital. Luckily, their ride has been upgraded to his mother's swanky Lexus SUV, which forecasts no blown tires for their trip.

The pain is on an entirely different level. It feels like a tight rubber band squeezing and snapping at her insides, over and over and over again. The feeling reaches every nerve in her body, spreading through her blood and making her spine arch against the seat of the car. With the pain poking and prodding every part of her, her temper reaches new heights.

"The pedal on the right makes it move, Jerry," she seethes at him.

"I don't care if the sign says stop, I want you to fucking _go_!"

"If we're not there in sixty seconds, this baby will be born in this goddamn car _and_ I will personally castrate you, Jerry!"

He is white as a sheet when they're finally situated in a room. The pain continues pulsing through her, returning in closer intervals. Her claws stay out and resume shredding Jerry. The last straw is pulled when he leaves the room to buy a candy bar for himself out of the vending machine. He returns to the room only to be met with an unfiltered torrent of anger.

"Out! I want him out!" Beth shrieks. She jabs a finger at Jerry's chest. She looks so scared and pissed at the same time in this moment; blonde strands are plastered to her forehead with sweat, and the whites of her knuckles show as she grips the sides of the bed. Another contraction is rippling over her body, and she stiffens with a loud cry.

A couple of nurses begin to usher Jerry out, but he tries to fight them. He jumps up, keeping his screaming wife in his viewpoint as he's pushed farther away from her. "Hey! You can't kick me out, that's my kid she's having!"

Behind the nurses, another shriek from Beth is heard: "You did this to me, you fucking bastard! And while I writhe and scream, you go get a fucking Hershey bar!"

"I'm sorry, sir," one of the nurses says with an apologetic frown. "But she's the one giving birth, so she's calling the shots about who she is comfortable having in the delivery room with her." They finally manage to urge Jerry through a set of double doors and lead him back to a waiting room under flickering fluorescent hospital lights. "You can take a seat right here, and we'll come get you right away if she wants you back."

Jerry can do nothing but watch, defeated, as they disappear again behind the double doors. He slouches forward in the chair, propping up his elbows on his knees. He barely hears the incredulous mutter from one of the nurses: "Who the hell gets a Hershey bar to watch his wife give birth? What a loser."

He takes a hesitant bite of his chocolate bar and studies the scuffed-up linoleum under his feet.

 **oo0oo**

Everything becomes real to Beth only when her newborn daughter is placed in her arms. The reality comes crashing down on her, a burden that presses down on her shoulders with the weight of a thousand army tanks.

Her baby is small, a mere six pounds and five ounces, and she looks nothing but irritated to be out of the troubled womb she had called home for the last several months. Her face is wrinkled and red, eyes squeezed tightly shut as her cries gradually subside. A smear of blood is still on her tiny forehead, and Beth wipes it off with a shaking thumb.

Her baby. Her daughter. Her little girl.

"Would you like us to get her father?"

And another realization comes crashing onto Beth. She holds her daughter closer to her chest and sighs softly. It's not just her daughter— it's their daughter. Their baby. Their little girl. And the stubborn, independent side of her recoils at that fact.

"Yes," she breathes. Their baby's fingers are so miniature as they clutch the hem of the pink blankets she's wrapped in.

When Jerry walks into the room, he finds Beth's face and the baby hidden behind a curtain of sweaty, wavy blonde hair. He steps forward cautiously, taking the seat next to the bed.

"So... that wasn't so bad, huh?" he murmurs.

Beth's head snaps upward, and annoyance shines again in her eyes. "Wasn't so bad, Jerry? How about next time _you_ have the baby? Then you can experience the joy of pushing a watermelon-sized person out of your body over a period of fourteen hours. It's _so_ much fun, take it from me."

Despite her irritation at his idiotic remark, her venom-laced words have little effect on her facial expression. The smile never leaves her lips, and it only widens as she glances back down at the pink-capped newborn in her arms. Jerry opens his mouth and closes it a few times like a fish. At last he comes up with a meek "She's beautiful."

"She definitely is," Beth agrees. A few long minutes of silence fall over them as they take in every little movement of their daughter. Every yawn, every twitch of her fingers. Then Beth offers very reluctantly for him to hold her.

"Oh, um..." He gulps, unable to protest as Beth leans forward with a wince to place the baby in his arms. He sits there, clueless, watching with bated breath as the newborn fusses a little.

"If you'd read the baby books, you would know to support behind her head," Beth mutters. Her exhaustion glares through the scolding. "She can't hold it up on her own yet."

"I read them!" he says defensively. "Well... most of them. I skimmed, okay? You can't expect me to have memorized every chapter word for word. I have studying to do."

She can feel the argument brewing, but there's no way in hell it will happen in front of a newborn baby. So she lets him off the hook for now, instead taking her back from Jerry and nestling her again in her own embrace.

"Her name is Summer," Beth tells him, the decisiveness clear in her tone. "Summer Diane Smith."

Jerry shrugs lamely as usual. "Okay, middle name is after your mom... that's sweet. But why Summer?"

"It's... my favorite season, and it doubles as a pretty name." It's her turn to shrug. "Duh."

That's what she tells him. That's what she wants to be true. That's all the meaning she wants to be behind her daughter's name. But it's not.

Seven summers ago was the last time she was truly happy.

The last time she saw her father was in the summertime.

The name carries a heavy weight with it, but Beth wants it nonetheless. Once it got in her head around month seven, she hasn't been able to push it away. And now here they are, a stumbling and uncertain family of three.

Her name is Summer, and she is born in the dead of winter.

 **oo0oo**

He said he was going to get ice cream from the store.

Spoiler: he wasn't.

 **oo0oo**

Summer is four months old when Beth's boredom skyrockets.

Jerry gets home from school one night and finds her in front of his parents' computer, researching something with acute focus. The glow of the screen reflects in her eyes, replacing the blue irises with scrolling white screens. He flips on the light in the room.

"Uh, what are you doing?" he asks.

"Browsing the Internet. Is that allowed?"

He takes a moment to recover from her blow, then retraces his steps in a different path. "What are you looking at... _hon_?"

She turns on the swivel chair to face him. Now he notices her disheveled hair, pulled back into a low ponytail that trails down her back. She's gone braless, wearing just a raggedy t-shirt and pajama shorts. Purple bags are tattooed under her eyes, but something in her gaze is bright and eager.

"Look at me, Jerry. I look like I got hit by a truck! My life is going nowhere." She swallows, voice growing more excited as she goes on. "I- I wanted to be a surgeon! I wanted to save lives! And instead, here I am, stuck, just caring for one person all day, every day. If this keeps up, I'll exhaust and bore myself to death."

His eyebrows immediately knit together worriedly. "You're bored of Summer?"

"Jerry." Beth exhales patiently. "That's not what I'm trying to say. What I mean is I don't want to be your little robot who does the dishes, makes dinner, and kisses you on the cheek every night. I'm not gonna be your cute, perky little housewife. I want... I want to have a _career_ , Jerry! I want to have a life!"

"My mom... cooks sometimes..." he mumbles feebly.

She goes on as if he hadn't spoken his useless statement. "I'm... I'm not letting our mistake get in the way of my happiness."

He stands, dumbfounded, for a moment. "Did you really just—" He leans his forehead on one hand, pressing his shoulder against the doorframe. "Listen, we need to think about what's best for Summer—"

"Of course I care about our daughter. But it won't kill her if her mother has an actual job. We're gonna need at least one breadwinner in this household," she goes on. Everything about her posture and tone is defiant. "Your dad just retired, Jerry. Right now there is no one making an income here."

"Excuse me? I have finals coming up. I don't have time to look for a job when I should be studying."

"I've known you for almost a year now, and the entire time you've just earned twenty dollars from mowing a couple lawns." Beth twists back to the computer for a moment, moving the monitor so he can read the screen. "Look at this. There's an amazing veterinary school two hours from here. I've already been compiling my credentials to send to them. If I get in, I can focus on a secondary branch of medicine, like equine surgery!" She's so enthusiastic, her eyes alight with a passionate flame that has been extinguished for a long while until now. "And I know this sounds crazy, but hear me out— there's a place near Seattle that looks really promising, and there I can finish getting my certifications. This is thinking even farther ahead, but we could move out of here, get out of your parents' hair, and find a place in Seattle. Plant some fresh roots. Start anew." Her grin is wide as ever as she looks at him. "What do you think?"

A wave of nervous nausea overwhelms him, and he leans harder against the doorframe. "I... I don't understand, Beth. Why would you want to leave Michigan? We have everything we need here. Why should we give up everything to move halfway across the country? Summer can be happy here. She'll grow up going to the same school we did."

The excitement on her face fades, eyes darkening as if a shadow has been cast over the room. "But I'm—"

She's interrupted by a series of wails from the other room. Instantly he makes a move for the door, but she springs up from her chair and lifts a finger at him. "Nuh-uh, you're not going in there to coddle her. We agreed that leaving her to cry it out is the best for her."

"B- but Beth—" he whimpers. "What if she's hungry? Or just wants some company?"

"Don't start. I fed her two hours ago, and changed her not even twenty minutes before this conversation. If we bend over backwards to tend to her every need, she'll grow up just as sheltered and babied as—" She stops short, only now realizing how far she's ventured into dangerous territory.

"As who? As who, Beth? Go on, say it!" Jerry taunts her. When she doesn't speak, instead choosing to stare at her lap and wring her hands guiltily, he snorts in laughter. "I know what you were going to say, and I disagree with your stance that being babied is a bad thing. I mean, for god's sake, Summer _is_ a baby! Babies should be babied. Where else could that term have come from? Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go comfort our daughter." He turns again to the door, but a subdued voice from behind him freezes him into a statue.

"I... I just don't want her to turn out like either of us, you know? I had a shitty childhood after my dad left, and—"

Jerry crosses his arms, eyebrows scrunching together as he takes in his wife's teary eyes. "You know, Beth, I'm really starting to think that I wouldn't like your father if I met him. What's his name again?"

"Rick," she mumbles with a sniffle.

"Well, the day I meet Rick will be the day I stand up to that ass for all the pain you've had to go through," Jerry says confidently. With that, he marches off in the direction of Summer's fading cries.

Beth hides her face in her hands, releasing words that would be condemned in Jerry's presence. "He's not the only person who's hurt me..."


	4. Waning

**Thank you for reading!  
**

* * *

Beth starts school the same day Summer says her first words. According to a muffled and exuberant phone call from Joyce, the word is a quiet but self-assured " _Mama!_ "

Beth almost melts into a puddle in the classroom. The professor's lecture is going in one ear, and her mother-in-law's squeals flow into the other.

"Honey? Are you there?" Joyce asks, her joy smothered by concern.

"Yeah, sorry Mrs. Smith, I was just—" Beth chews furiously on the end of her pencil, scribbling down notes at a speed that would make a racehorse jealous.

"Oh, sweetheart, you know you can just call me Joyce. You're Mrs. Smith now too."

Beth's grip on the pencil stiffens somewhat. What she wants to say is " _Don't remind me_ " but instead she vouches for a cheerful "Of course, Joyce. Thanks for calling."

 **oo0oo**

She's in the middle of a conversation with a professor when her cell phone— a very primitive version at this point in the early 2000s— begins to buzz in her back pocket. Discreetly, she slips the mile-thick device out of her pocket and right away her heart skips a beat when she sees the Caller ID.

"I am so sorry, but I really have to take this call. Excuse me," she chirps distractedly to the professor, who crosses his arms and glares at her uncouth interruption.

She steps into a back corner of the room and shoves the phone against her ear. "What is it?" she hisses. "Is Summer okay? I know she doesn't like the food I set out for her, but those peas have to get into her one way or—"

"Everything is fine, Beth, no worries," Leonard's rumbling voice greets her. "I just wanted to let you know that Summer's, um, taken her first steps today. Joyce tried to videotape it, but the damn camera wouldn't work."

Beth's stomach sinks down to her feet, then past the floor, all the way to the earth's core. Now this is the second milestone she's missed. She gulps over the lump building in her throat and sighs. "No, it's fine… that's really good news, though. I'll try to drive home this weekend, okay?"

She and her father-in-law exchange a few more hushed words, then she closes the phone and returns to face her irate professor. Her stomach is gone and her heart is thumping so hard, surely it has to be making imprints in her chest.

"That wasn't very professional," he remarks coldly.

"I know. I'm really sorry, Dr. Kline. It was just a call about my daughter, and I—"

One of his bushy eyebrows elevates. "You have a daughter? Forgive me, but… aren't you only eighteen or nineteen?"

Beth grins stiffly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable about delving this deep into her personal business with this guy. "Yeah. She… she just took her first steps two hours away. I— I didn't… I didn't see… it." The tears are stinging at her eyes like needles now, begging to be shed. She ducks her head, ashamed to be crying in front of a teacher in such a sophisticated place as this. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't—"

Dr. Kline shakes his head quickly. "No, no, don't worry about it, Beth. How about… um… how about you go on and take a little break for the rest of the day? I understand it must be difficult."

She's already halfway to the door. "Thank you!" she calls over her shoulder with a sniffle.

 **oo0oo**

"This is exactly what I was worried about, Beth," Jerry's annoying voice crackles into her ear. "You're absent so much from Summer's life. I think—"

"It's really that bad?" Beth asks softly.

"Yesterday, she called my mother 'Mama' instead of 'Nana.'"

Beth slumps against the wall.

"And I think you might've weaned her too early. She still will only drink from baby bottles, y'know, the ones with the—"

"— the nipple. Yeah, Jerry, I know. I haven't forgotten what those look like." She rubs a hand over her tired face, then pulls it back to examine the dried-out mascara staining her palm. "Look, I… I promise I'll be home soon. I just have to finish this first year, then I'll have a few weeks of rest."

"And then you'll be right back to this same routine again next school year," Jerry snaps. "How long are you going to make this whole 'get a doctorate' thing last? Because my daughter will soon not even recognize her own mother. It's been almost six months since—"

The blood in her fingertips sizzles angrily as she holds steady to the phone. "Oh, she's just your daughter now? Remind me, Jerry, who carried her for nine months?"

He says nothing. She can picture him easily though, standing dumbly with his lips pursed and a steady scowl fixed on his face.

"Me. I did," Beth goes on. "She can be your daughter when she whines, but otherwise she is _ours_. Understand?"

He shoots back an equally tart reply. "And she'll be just your daughter whenever she bitches and nitpicks everything I say and do!" He adopts a high-pitched, exaggerated tone, a poor mimicry of her voice. "' _Don't say that, Jerry!_ ' ' _You're not doing that right, Jerry!_ ' ' _Why do you have to breathe that way, Jerry!_ '" His words dissolve into unintelligible, catty gibberish.

"Oh, shut the hell up!" Beth growls into the receiver. "And maybe grow up a little too."

"Summer will be two years old before you know it," Jerry says. "And I bet you won't even make it for her birthday."

 **oo0oo**

The day Summer turns two, Beth has an important midterm exam. Important as in, trading sleep for study time for the several weeks leading up to the test. During the entire duration of the damned thing, Beth splits her time between taking the exam and glancing at the clock. The second time is up, she breezes out the door and presses down on the gas pedal of her car and doesn't stop until she's back in Muskegon.

By the time she makes it, it's past seven thirty PM and only the remnants of party decorations are left. Crushed streamers greet her at the doorway, slightly deflated balloons with tangled strings stare at her menacingly from a corner. A temporary table set up in the living room has a now shredded plastic table cloth on it with cake icing smeared over it. It definitely looks like the stampede of neighborhood kids has been through here more than once.

"There you are."

Jerry's voice isn't in the tone she expected it to be. He sounds a little tipsy, and those three simple words are dripping with suggestiveness.

She flicks on a light switch and finds him leaning in the doorway between the living room and kitchen. His shirt is gone, revealing a chest decorated with sprigs of dark hair. The only thing he has on, in fact, is a pair of boxer shorts that are very poorly hiding his hard-on.

"Yep," she says, popping the _p_. "Here I am." She moves forward, trying to see around his shoulders. "Is Summer still up? I brought her some gifts—"

Her husband rushes forward, and right away she feels his fingers combing through her hair, lips hungrily sucking on the soft skin of her neck. He travels along her collarbone to plant a final long kiss on her lips. "God, it's been ages since I've seen you. You look even hotter in person than in photos, y'know."

She can't help but shudder happily at his touch. It's impossible to remember the last time either of them have done anything, considering the number of miles that have been between them until now.

But Summer comes first.

"Jerry. Is Summer asleep?"

His breath is hot on her neck. "I put her down a few minutes ago. She might still be up if you wanna check."

Eagerly Beth slips out of his grasp for the time being, darting down the hall to Summer's room. It's changed a lot since she last saw it; the cream-colored walls are now bubblegum pink, a fresh collection of toys crowds the shelves, and the little girl curled up in the crib now looks far too big to be sleeping in there.

"Summer," Beth whispers, creeping over to the bed. She leans over the safety bars, taking a moment to admire her daughter's peaceful slumbering face. "Sweetie, it's Mommy." She places a caressing hand on the girl's shoulder, and at that Summer rouses.

Two big brown eyes— carbon copies of her father's— blink up at her in confusion. "Mommy?" she repeats.

"It's me, honey. I've come for a visit from veterinary school." Beth slips her hands under Summer's arms, picking her up and quickly situating her comfortably against her chest. She grunts while doing so, "You're such a big girl now."

Summer grins sleepily at her, displaying two chubby fingers. "Two!" she squeaks.

Beth's fingers are drawn to the curly ginger locks on her daughter's head, which are divided evenly into two pigtails. "Is that right?" she whispers affectionately. "Two years old? Wow."

The girl cuddles closer against her mother's chest. "How long Mommy stay?"

"Just for tonight, sweetheart. I'm very busy at school."

Summer stays silent for a few moments, apparently contemplating this information. Then she goes, "How old are _you_ , Mommy?"

"Twenty," Beth tells her. "Ten plus ten."

"Woah," Summer says. Her eyes are like twin moons. "You're old!"

"Sure, Sum," Beth says. "Whatever you say."

After her daughter dozes off in her arms, Beth deposits her gently back in the crib and leaves the door as she found it— open a crack. It feels like something is clawing at the back of her throat. She sniffs, biting her lip and running her gaze over the family photos that line the walls.

If only she _was_ old. Well, older.

If only she had gotten her degree out of the way before having any kids.

Worst of all, she wants to regret saying yes to sex with Jerry on prom night, but changing that would mean no Summer.

Her husband is waiting for her in their room— or, rather, his childhood bedroom which has been semi-converted into a more mature room for two adults. The walls are still blue with a sports ball trim (as if he has ever picked up a single football in his life) and a few mementos dating back to his middle school days are stuck to a dusty corkboard. Beth has been gone so long, she's forgotten how to ignore these stupid things.

"Did I hear you right? You're only staying for tonight?" he asks. The disappointment is palpable in his tone.

"I wish I could for longer," she says, taking a seat on the bed, "but there's just no way I can be away from school longer than half a day. I'll be driving back out there at around six in the morning tomorrow."

She groans, falling back onto the squeaky mattress and kicking off her shoes. "What a hellish day," she mutters. "And I suppose you're about to make it more hellish for me?"

He crawls over to her, frowning. "No. What makes you say that?" He pauses, then shrugs one shoulder. "Okay, well, I really am happy to see you. I've missed you so much. And I've missed…" He doesn't have to go on. His hand is tracing the outline of her body, and she shivers in pleasure.

"Oh…" she breathes. Her eyes close, and within seconds his lips are on hers. They kiss passionately, tongues dancing and faint moans tickling their throats every few seconds. After a minute he pulls back.

"Let's just say… I'm about to make your night _heavenly_ ," he says in the sexiest voice he can muster.

She rolls her eyes and drags him back down onto her. "Just shut up and do me, for fuck's sake."

 **oo0oo**

The next morning, she leaves Summer's presents on the party table in the living room. A picture book, a few little outfits, and a stuffed horse.

Summer doesn't let that horse out of her sight for six years, ten months, and three days.

 **oo0oo**

When Beth leaves class to go cough up her breakfast in the restroom some weeks later, the first thought that hits her is one of panic and dismay.

Just like the first time around, she doesn't waste a second going out and buying a pregnancy test. And again, just a couple years later, the two lines are staring challengingly up at her.

Then the panic turns to a spark of joy in the pit of her stomach. Maybe this isn't such a bad thing. Maybe another kid is just what they need to save this flailing two-and-a-half-year-old marriage.

She calls Jerry that night.

"So… turns out I'm pregnant."

Silence. Then "Are you serious?"

Beth sits down on her bed and scoffs. "Would I joke about that?"

"Okay, okay, so you're serious." A sigh whistles into her ear, as if he's standing right next to her. "So does this mean you're dropping out of school?"

She almost chokes on the water she's sipping. " _What_? No! I'm staying in vet school, Jerry, no matter how much you want me to leave. I'll just work around the pregnancy."

"And how do you plan to do _that_?"

"I'll find a way to accommodate. Don't get your hopes up at all about me dropping out. I'm getting this degree."

It's easy to imagine him shaking his head in disapproval at this moment. "Fine. Well… if it's a boy, I name him."

She glares steadily at the wall, imagining it as Jerry's face. "Fine. Better not be a stupid name." And she hangs up.

 **oo0oo**

It takes months of convincing, but Jerry and Summer finally move into an apartment nearby her school's campus two months before Beth is due. They find a decent daycare center to drop Summer off at every day, and now it's Jerry's turn to have the two-hour commute to school— which, naturally, he complains about without fail each morning.

Beth goes into labor on a brisk afternoon in August, and fortunately Jerry's parents are in town, having driven there a few days before in preparation for the arrival of Summer's baby brother.

Not many people can say they took the yearly finals while six months pregnant, but Beth can. And despite having to pee every three minutes and having a ridiculous craving for a huge jar of dill pickles during the duration of the exams, she managed to pull through.

Now all of that suffering seems like a piece of cake compared to the pain of childbirth. She realizes how quickly she had forgotten how awful it is. This time she lets Jerry stick around in the room, mainly for a hand to squeeze and possibly break during contractions.

By the time their son is born, she's ready to pass out for a few years. But unlike when Summer was born, he is not immediately placed in her arms.

Through the haze of pain medication and shock, she hears Jerry yelling at a doctor and sees their son being whisked away out the door. She wants to scream after him, but is immobile. Her ears are ringing, her tongue is dry like sandpaper, her vision is as clear as smudged glass—

Five hours later, Beth wakes to find Jerry just walking into the room. He rushes over to her bedside and takes the chair. The legs scrape against the floor, and she winces at the grating noise.

"Where…" she croaks. Her throat is still like a desert. "… my baby?"

Now that he's up close, she can see the dark paths left by tears on his face. _What a crybaby,_ she thinks idly— and hypocritically.

"He's six weeks premature, Beth." Jerry's words are so weak, they barely reach her ears through the sanitized air. "He… he wasn't breathing when he came out."

And now she remembers. The events of a few hours ago come rushing back to her in blurry snapshots. How panicked everyone was, saying it was too soon, how the labor went too fast, how she shrieked and squeezed her husband's hand until his fingers were purple, how there was no affirmative cry when the pressure in her abdomen finally disappeared.

How the doctors rushed her baby boy right out the door.

"The cord… was wrapped around his neck," Jerry stammers on. "They've managed to… to resuscitate him, but he's… he's still very weak."

And she can do nothing but lay there, dumbfounded, feeling as useless and limp as a ragdoll. Her exhausted limbs are heavy as iron, her muscles stretched out like putty. She can do nothing but sit and recover and worry and feel her stomach become more hollow and stormy with every passing minute.

When she finally gets to catch a glimpse of her son many hours later, he is not a perfect little bundle wrapped in blue. He's wheeled in and connected to a breathing tube and a million various wires. Her medical knowledge explains all of this in a second to her, but the doctors blab on about it anyway to fill in the clueless Jerry.

Beth doesn't want Summer to see her brother like this, but Jerry lets her visit anyway. His parents and their granddaughter are sullenly silent as they walk in. Then Summer perks up, skipping over to her mother with the widest of beams stretching her rosy cheeks. Her horse plushie is hugged tightly to her chest.

"Where's baby?" she asks.

Beth plasters on a fake smile and points to the incubator-like machine the youngest Smith is currently connected to. "There he is. He's a little bit… s- sick, so don't touch, okay?"

"Okay!" Summer obliges. She stands on her tip toes, peeking through the clear glass. Her younger sibling is breathing faintly, tiny fists jerking in his fitful sleep. Every rise and fall of his small chest adds another year to Beth's life.

Summer grins innocently, unaware of the shaky tower her brother's life is currently standing on.

"Baby brudder," she says. Her fingers are practically touching the glass. "I love him."

Beth's fingers curl into the plain white sheets of her bed.

 **oo0oo**

The time Jerry signs the birth certificate and the time Beth discovers his chosen name for their son are hours apart. He only decides to give him a name when the baby's chances improve and the number of wires attached to him decreases.

"I named him Mortimer Douglas Smith," Jerry tells her some time later. Judging by the darkness outside, it's in the middle of the night, but Beth hasn't exactly been paying attention to any clocks for a while now.

"What the hell kind of name is that?" she mutters.

"It's a special name to me. I've always known that if I ever have a son, that's the name he'll get."

"Oh," she says back, too tired to argue. In her mind, she protests to him until he changes it to something that's less likely to get their son made fun of in school. In her mind, she tells Jerry to name him something cute and trendy, like Ethan or Lukas. In her mind, she makes his middle name… Richard.

But that's in her mind. Out loud, in the real world, she stays silent.

 **oo0oo**

Jerry hands her a chocolate bar.

"What's this for?" she asks.

"It's to make up for last time. I think you deserve a Hershey bar after all you've been through," he explains.

The gesture is sweet, of course. She doesn't have the heart to tell him— or really, _remind_ him— that she hates almonds.

 **oo0oo**

Summer can't pronounce "Mortimer" very well with her slippery toddler tongue, and instead she settles for calling her brother "Morty." The name sticks.

Beth dedicates her days to schoolwork and nights to being at the hospital with their tiny Morty. Over a few weeks, though, his weight rises from four pounds and his skin becomes a warm, healthy color so unlike the chilling blue skin he had been born into.

He is two-and-a-half weeks old when she can finally hold him in her arms. He is two-and-a-half weeks old plus one day when his father gets to hold him. He is three weeks old when his grandparents hold him. He is three weeks old when his sister gets to touch him.

"I wanna hold brudder!" Summer says with a stamp of her foot. So Jerry lifts her into Beth's lap, then places the baby in Summer's short arms. Beth holds both her children close to her body, never wanting to let go of them nor this moment.

They bring Morty home when he is just over a month old. Beth remains dedicated to school, and only gets to see her son in the evening when she staggers into the door with aching, leaky breasts and her body pleading for sleep. Jerry never misses a chance to remind her how much easier this all would be if she just dropped out of vet school. She chooses to look into the future, at the sizable income she'll be able to rake in as a (horse) surgeon.

Morty is a very happy baby, with brown hair and dark eyes like his father. Only his nose is different, cute and round like a button rather than pointed like the rest of the family's. Even as he grows, he stays attached at the hip to his father. Just like Summer and her stuffed horse, Jerry doesn't want Morty out of his sight for a second.

"You coddle him too much," Beth tells him one night over TV dinners. Morty is napping in his crib down the hall, and Summer is munching her food happily, legs swinging and blissfully oblivious to her parents' looming argument.

"Yeah, well, considering he almost _died_ at birth, I don't see anything wrong with giving him some extra love," Jerry shoots back.

Beth checks Summer for a reaction to her father's blunt words, but the redhead continues chomping on her dinosaur nuggets.

"I don't want our son to become this… this spoiled and spineless kid. I love him to pieces too, Jerry, but surely you can't expect all your treatment of him to be good in the long run—"

She's cut off by a wail from Morty's room. Instantly Jerry is up and moving on down the short hallway to their son. "That's my little man," Beth hears Jerry praise the baby. "You know just the right moment to interrupt your mother. That's a good skill to have, y'know…"

She tightens her hold on her fork, and tries to focus on Summer instead. If only her daughter's cheer was contagious enough to make her forget about Jerry.


	5. Renewed

At the end of this school year, Beth is recommended to the school in Seattle. She and Jerry argue for hours on end about the big move, but in the end she wins. They pack up their belongings and leave behind everything they know in Michigan to start a new chapter.

"I've never been out of state," Jerry comments as they soar down the interstate. "I wonder what it's like?"

"It's much more interesting," Beth informs him as she consults a map. "From what I hear, people actually _live_ in Seattle. Things actually _happen_ there. It rains a lot, but it's far from boring." She turns the map in another direction, squinting at it. "Or at least that's what the Internet says."

In the backseat, Summer is kicking her legs and singing every nursery rhyme she knows, while Morty gurgles along. Both parents have built up massive headaches within an hour.

 **oo0oo**

The day Beth graduates from veterinary school three years later is the same day she first considers leaving Jerry.

Every time someone at the graduation party calls her "Dr. Beth Smith," Jerry pipes up with a fake smile and a jovial laugh, "She's still just a Mrs. to me! Ha, ha!"

It only gets worse as the days drag on into weeks and months. She snags a job at a veterinary hospital that pays far more off the bat than any measly occupation Jerry has ever held down. In between jobs, he kills time skimming the job offers in the newspaper for five minutes, then spends the rest of the day doing something mind-numbingly boring. She'll come home splattered in blood from a particularly rough surgery and find him deeply concentrating on a jigsaw puzzle or a four-player board game that he's playing by himself. She's seen him beat himself/lose to himself at a Monopoly game. He's a whiz handling fake money, but he has no clue what a real one-hundred-dollar bill looks like.

It kills her. It really, really does.

 **oo0oo**

She is twenty-five years old and has never had a single drink since the mistake known as prom night.

She has faint memories of her father, lean and lanky genius that he was, stumbling around the house late at night, drunk out of his mind. She can recall in the dim recesses of her mind the sharp _crack_ of a bottle against the wall. She remembers often being the one to clean up the shattered glass.

What draws her to Jerry, despite his sometimes idiotic habits, is the fact that he has not once left her side since the day they blew a tire in that godforsaken Buick while driving to the abortion clinic. He also, as a bonus, happens to not have a dependency on alcohol.

She's heard the horror stories, the abuse and terror children of alcoholics have undergone. In a way, she suffered through the horror herself as a young child, although not in the same way. Her father never hit her or her mother. She knows in her heart that he would never dream of causing her physical harm. (Emotional harm— that's an entirely different story.)

She refuses to do to her kids what her father did to her. She doesn't ever want to taste alcohol again, after the mess that spiked punch caused in her life.

And yet, when she buys the four of them a house in a cute neighborhood in the suburbs of Seattle, and they leave behind apartments forever in favor of driveways and basketball hoops and actual separate rooms and _space_ from each other—

She pushes the cart down the aisle of the grocery store, scanning her list and humming a commercial jingle over and over again to herself. She glances up, and notices she's ended up in _that_ aisle.

She gulps, scanning over the rows of thin-necked bottles, the bright lights of the store reflecting on their dark glass like a teasing glare. She thinks of her father, of what alcohol would do to him, when she was only six years old—

Her hand fastens on the cool neck of a bottle of red wine, 375 milliliters of miracle juice that she hopes will make her forget when she needs to the most.

With a shaking hand, she places the bottle in her cart and never looks back.

 **oo0oo**

Nine years later, Morty is the one who runs to the door the day her life takes a sharp turn in the direction of interesting.

Beth is in the kitchen preparing dinner. Jerry and Summer are, in typical fashion, unable to be detached from their respective devices in separate rooms. The rough knocks on the front door reach Morty's ears first, and he rises from the sofa to investigate.

"Mom! Th- there's some g- guy at the door," Morty calls.

Beth looks up from the pasta she'd been absentmindedly stirring. She used to internally wince every time her son stuttered, but now she doesn't even bat an eyelash. No speech therapist she and Jerry have thrown money at can fix it, and so instead they let it go and just hope he grows out of it.

"Aw geez, he— he looks pr- pretty m- m-messed up," Morty's voice comes again. Right on cue, the three steady knocks come again.

"Christ, we have a doorbell…" Beth mumbles to herself, lowering the heat on the stove and walking out to the foyer. Morty steps aside and she leans in to look through the peephole.

Something within her stirs, something that hasn't been moved in a long time. It tugs at her heartstrings and makes her jaw become heavy like cement and fall to the floor. Instantly her hand darts to the door handle and without even pondering the consequences, she twists it and pulls the door open.

A blast of frosty January air is swept into the front hall, and while Morty shivers Beth remains frozen, not taking her eyes off the tall, skinny old man standing in her doorway. His eyes are just as blue and icy as she remembers, and his gray hair is unkempt as always, sticking in odd spikes off his head. When his gaze lands on her, his unibrow raises and one end of his mouth curls up into a half-grin.

"Hey, sweetie. Mind if I— _urp_ — come in? I- it's a lil' bit ch- chilly out here." He rubs his calloused hands together. "Th- though I really don't blame ya if ya wa- wanna ki— _urp_ — ck me out—"

She doesn't let him finish. She launches herself into his arms, pulling him in tight and not letting go for at least thirty seconds. The tears are soon flowing warm down her cheeks, and her mouth can already taste the big glass of wine she's gonna need to pour herself soon.

"Mom, wh- wh- who is this?" Morty asks. His question pulls her out of the awkward embrace.

The commotion at the door has attracted the attention of Jerry and Summer, who both approach from their sanctuaries with inquisitive frowns on their faces.

"This…" Beth takes a deep breath. "Everyone, this is… my dad. Rick Sanchez."

Jerry marches up to Rick, who steps inside and tracks snow onto the carpet. Beth shuts the door behind him, and watches the two men stare down each other.

"Dad, this is my husband Jerry," Beth tells him.

"S- so this is the bu— _urp_ — um who knocked you up, Beth?" Rick asks, completely unamused as he eyes her husband.

"As if you ever did her any favors," Jerry retorts with a defiant cross of his arms.

"Oh, d- don't start feeling all high and m- mighty now, _Jerry_ ," Rick spits as he looms over the younger man. "With a name and st- stature like that, my guess is you're my daughter's man-wife o- or some kind of— _urp_ — goddamn advertising agent for one of those ir- irritating companies. Y'know, the ones th- that are all cheerful a- and happy go lucky in their commercials, then you g- go to buy their shit and they're l- like fuckin' sloths, energetic as shit." He leans down closer to the cowering Jerry. "Sloths, _Gerald_. Or whatever the— _urp_ — hell your name is."

Beth bites her lip and directs her father away from her fuming husband. "… okay, Dad, there are a few other people I'd like you to meet." She guides him over to Morty and Summer, who have been staring in surprise at the entire exchange thus far.

"My daughter, Summer—"

"Just _your_ daughter—?"

"— shut up, Jerry," Beth says, the words rolling off her tongue on instinct, "and this is our son, Morty."

The kids blink up at Rick like curious toddlers. Rick studies them both through narrowed eyes. He steals a quick swig from his flask, burps again, then nods affirmatively at Beth. "That's a couple of g- good-lookin' kids, Beth. You've outdone yourself o- on your part. Th- though I will say, it's a sh- shame they didn't get your eyes." He gives her a coldly affectionate pat on the shoulder. "D- do I smell spaghetti? Man, I fuckin' love spaghetti."

Beth follows him closely as he steps into the dining room. Like a robot, Summer sets an extra place for Rick on Morty's side of the table.

"But… I don't understand, Dad, why— why here? Why do you choose now to come back?" she asks. She wants to be angry at him, but the only emotions bubbling in her gut are excitement and relief.

"It took me a— _urp_ — while, but I- I found just the right ice cream," Rick tells her. Out of his bag, he produces a gallon of mint chocolate chip. "A million galaxies, a thousand dimensions, and n- not one could compare to this one right here."

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me…" Jerry mumbles under his breath.

She gets a good look at her father, at the light coating of liquor-infused drool on his chin, at his just-barely-there grin, at the glimmer of memory in those sharp blue eyes so alike to her own.

He'd said he was going to get ice cream from the store.

And in his own strange, complicated way, he got the goddamn gallon of mint chocolate chip. (It's only her second favorite flavor, but who cares?)

It wasn't a lie.

In this moment, her heart bursts and the smile on her face is so wide it almost hurts. She picks up the ice cream carton and goes to place it in the freezer, not even caring that the words on it are in some foreign alien language.

 **oo0oo**

The bond Rick forms with his grandchildren is remarkable. He's much closer with Morty at first, but over time Summer's jealousy comes to a head and she actively worms her way into their adventures. Jerry despises these quests, but Beth doesn't mind them at all. In a way, she realizes she's also a little jealous of the bond Rick shares with her children. Every day, he satiates their thirst for adventure and gives them the thrills her own childhood never had.

Beth and Jerry go back and forth from begging for each other's forgiveness to wishing they'd never met each other. Every night, she pours herself heaping servings of merlot and always sucks the glass dry. And somehow, inexplicably, her admiration for Rick grows and her respect for Jerry diminishes as the months go by.

One day, she loves her husband. It's also the day Summer finds out she was unwanted, and draws the conclusion that she is the sole cause of her parents' misery. It's also the day Rick gives them these alternate reality goggles that display their lives in a different dimension. Beth is slouched on the kitchen floor, guzzling wine like it's water, pretending for once her life is perfect. And then she opens the door. And there are gasps from the other room, where the TV is blaring. Jerry, standing on her stoop with half his head shaved and a syringe still stuck in his chest. Jerry, with countless blemishes on his canvas and a pleading look in his eyes. And she rips the goggles off, staggering into the other room with tears already dampening her cheeks. And Jerry, her Jerry, with a full head of hair and no syringe, her Jerry who still has a tired face and desperate eyes, stands up from the couch and runs to her. And they kiss with a passion she never even knew they possessed before. It's a passion that has been hiding since that night after prom with specks of rain dappling the windshield of the car. In this moment, she believes with every fiber of her being that in any godforsaken dimension, they are meant to be together.

One day, she hates her husband. Her soul is a hearth, and her fury is the crackling, dancing flames within. She screams at him to leave, to throw his shit into a suitcase and get in his shitty station wagon and never come back. He has to go, because he left the toilet seat up again, because he insulted her father, because he ruined their son, because their daughter won't even talk to him. And when Beth is finally able to bring herself to look in Jerry's forlorn, submissive brown eyes hours later, she realizes she's lost. She can't be sure if he is the one weighing her down, holding her back from finding solace. Even if he is, something stops her from cutting the tether every time. He visits her at work, and he sweeps her off her feet and kisses her gently behind the filing cabinet like it's their first time. He brings home a pint of her favorite Neapolitan ice cream "just because." For just one dinner, he tolerates her father. But then she thinks harder, poising the sharpened scissors over his tether to her. He visits her at work, and walks into her office armed with a victorious "A- _ha_!" and the claim that she's cheating on him with her stupid coworker. He forgets to grab milk from the store, even if he's been sitting at time watching TV all day while she was the one out working. And then he screams at her father the same way she screams at her husband. And she hates him.

Then one afternoon, the world turns to shit (not for the first time) and Jerry comes crawling home to her from the best, most short-lived job he's ever had.

"Jerry, what the hell is happening?" she demands. Through the sliding glass door, it looks like some type of World War 3 between insect people and regular people. The sky is green and clogged with spaceships of all shapes and sizes.

"The galactic government collapsed," Jerry pants.

Her eyes must double in size. "Are you okay?"

He sits up on his knees, and she notices that the bags under his eyes are more pronounced right now than ever. "Look, I- I'm not proud to share this, but the truth is, I just kept crawling, and it kept working!" He stands and takes one of her hands in his. "Oh, I'm glad you're okay…"

She reaches up to caress one side of his face, but he takes her hand as his face hardens. "Are we _ever_ going to stop paying for indulging your father? Our children, our planet, our jobs? Is there anything left to lose?"

Beth softens at this. Something about the look in his eyes, that spark of angry defiance— and seeing how shitty the world is right now, and no less because of Rick…

"Just each other, and I'll never let you go." She touches his face again, the faint stubble scraping her fingers. "And I'm so sorry I ever did this to us."

As suddenly as it started, their gentle moment is shattered by the familiar sound of a portal opening up in the living room next to them. Rick and their children step out from the swirling green circle, a bit roughed-up but alive. Everyone is wearing wide grins.

"Guess who dismantled the government?" Rick announces proudly.

And all at once, her loyalty shifts and she whirls away from Jerry. She rushes into her father's arms, voice cracking as she speaks. "Please don't leave me again."

She relaxes as Rick returns the hug, his arms resting on her back. "I never will, baby," he assures her.

Summer chatters excitedly, and Morty is still smiling as he stands there in his pajamas and slippers. And then Rick goes—

"Jerry, is there any light beer left? It's insane what you miss in prison."

There's a pause. Beth stiffens a little, knowing this can't end well. These are exactly the type of questions that set Jerry off.

"Um… okay. No," he says. Beth pulls away from her father and glances nervously at her husband. The flames of anger in his eyes are now like hot coals. "No, no, no. Foot down time."

Rick resists a roll of his eyes. "No, you're right. Where's the vodka?"

Then Jerry turns to face his wife. "Beth, it's him"— he jabs a finger at Rick, then to himself— "or me!"

Silence follows. She waits for him to cave, to admit he's overreacting, or to just storm off to their room— something, anything, she'll take it. But as the seconds stretch on, they continue to stare at each other, and Beth realizes he's not kidding.

"Seems like you guys need some privacy. I'll, uh— I'll be in the garage," Rick remarks. He sounds more intrigued than worried as he and the kids quickly vacate the room.

Beth wants to say something, and be furious at her lazy bum of a husband, but nothing comes to her. Jerry lets out a defeated, questioning whimper, his anger fizzling out like a cheap sparkler. "Beth…?"

She shuts her eyes and shakes her head. "I'm… I'm sorry, Jerry." With that, she turns away and walks out.

At a quick glance, the past seventeen years of their lives together might be described as misery. And in several ways, it was. But Beth also regards her marriage to Jerry as a learning experience. At this point, she can do nothing but thank him for sticking with her as long as he did. And she can thank him for giving her Summer and Morty. And she can thank him for his constant put-downs and insults— _you should drop out, you're not a good mother, you're not a real surgeon_ — only making her stronger and giving her a tougher skin.

She already knows how much wine she'll be drinking tonight. But she also knows that it will be okay. Everything will be absolutely fine— because her marriage, once an intact bottle, is now shattered on the floor behind her. And this time, she won't be the one cleaning up the pieces.

She has her beautiful daughter, and her kindhearted son, and her intelligent father who's never out of any interesting stories to tell or adventures to embark on. She has a lot of lost years to make up with Rick— and, at the very least, that flask he carries won't ever shatter on the floor like the bottles did thirty years ago.

The tears that should be gathering in her eyes right now never come. She stands at the door to the garage, takes a deep breath, and when she opens it and steps through the threshold, she doesn't look back.

 **oo0oo**

Well, she doesn't look back for a few minutes, at least.

She still has to make sure Jerry actually moves out of the house.

* * *

 **(Yes, I did use the canon dialogue from 3x01 at the end. Sue me! Actually, no, please don't... I'm broke.)**

 **Thank you to those who favorited, followed, and reviewed! It is much appreciated. Keep an eye out for more Rick & Morty fics from me! Bye for no**w.


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